Love Interrupted
by Lucipherous
Summary: It was evening when he saw her. Just across the market place against the backdrop of the hazy sun, which lingered so delicately along the brim of a sunhat she currently toyed with, scrunching her nose at the price tag and pressing the rough material between her slim fingers. She was there. And he'd never been more terrified.
1. Chapter 1

Wow. It's been years (not an exaggeration) since I've been active on this site. I can't explain it, but after spending so much time reading the work of others, I was randomly inspired to get back into the game. I hope you like what I've returned with.

This story is mildly inspired by Jack White's song 'Love Interrupted,' but its influence will not come until slightly later.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto nor anything it encompasses.

* * *

It was evening when she saw him.

The morning brought the smell of a world washed away by yesterday's rain and the birds shook the remnants of the past with a fluff of their silken feathers. Droplets fell from tree leaves as if the beings themselves shivered from the sun's reluctant rising. White mist clung to the pale glow on the horizon, and Sakura brushed her hair while watching the world stir.

Tracing her fingertips along the ground to catch the grass's dew, she rubbed her eyes with the wet earth and contemplated the day's callings. Today was the day to settle. Today was the day to find her own place.

The sun watched her stow away her travel supplies for what she hoped to be the last time. Shards of grass clung to her smooth ankles and she refrained from batting them away just to relish in the simplicity. The normalcy. The kunoichi couldn't remember the last time she had felt so utterly human.

A quick wash in a nearby river and fresh change of clothes only helped to lighten the mood. The air was sweet, the sunshine gentle, and the earth seemed to hum along to the songs she mused in her mind. The clink of her kunai belt against her hipbone was the only thing to remove her head from the clouds.

It seemed a rare occurrence these days that missions brought her anything but headaches. She'd enjoy the spare moments with just herself and the sun and the leaves and the crisp morning air. She'd forgotten, if just for a moment, that her sense of security was nothing more than a symptom. A detail, unnecessary, that had more to do with her surroundings than with her mindset. The bitter truth grounded her like an anchor, and absently she tucked her shoulder-length hair behind the shell of her ear, pondering the morning rituals of other, more energetic peoples.

Since the end of the war three years previous, the fire and spirit that Sakura once held for missions seemed to have vacated her body along the route to victory. Where there was once a thrill and passion to serve her country now lay a barren plain of dark memories, all ready for harvest at the flick of the wrist. Occasionally she would relish in her own somber habits, biting into the sour fruit of her many years labor. The war was never really "won." Not when so many were lost in the forests and the tunnels and the fires. Sakura thought of Neji, his kind white eyes roaming appreciatively over the taijutsu poses in which he tutored her, the silken nature of his unbound hair when she'd find him sprawled, flat-backed on the wooden floor of his home during a session of his rather eccentric meditation. She recalled his gentle laugh, which he often hid. His fondness for the time just before sunrise when wetness still filled the air before settling on the ground. The warmth beyond his strength, the honesty within his testaments, the honor of his love.

Others trailed the Hyuuga. Chouji, always an underdog of sorts. Kiba, who protected Akamaru to the bitter end and took an axe to the back just so his companion wouldn't have to suffer in that way; so the young man himself would never have to know a day without his best friend by his side. TenTen, although she'd died in a different way, left to wither with both legs disabled and a heart that could never fully heal from the loss of her white-eyed companion. Shikamaru had eloped long ago to Suna to raise a little girl that Temari left in her wake, her paternal heritage still unknown and unbreached. Ino, alone. Hinata, still so quiet and fret with nerves. The rest of Rookie Nine that remained pedaled along as well as they could, baring the bitterness of the days and the winds of slow, struggling change. Life in Konoha never grew back as sweet as she'd remembered before being destroyed by the war. And so she pushed on, not because her will propelled her but because what other choice would she have? Die, and leave Naruto with another wasted life to haunt his remaining days? She couldn't. For him, she proceeded with every meager second that ticked by. Naruto alone lent her the power to crawl on, and she would not - _could_ not undermine that privilege.

And so it was that such valiance to live on was rewarded by her most cherished teacher, Kakashi-sensei, who'd tagged on a three-week "investigation period" to a B-rank mission already overdramatized by the weight of its ranking. A need for a vacation was evident. Upon her return Sakura swore she would find a way to thank the mysterious old man.

The mission: to gather information on a travelling faction of unmarked shinobi withholding some sort of contraband ripped from its roots in Iwagakure. Supposedly an elderly decrepit woman resided in some small town along the border of Fire and Rock, the grandson of whom may or may not be the suspected leader of the thieving band in question. While normally Konoha would hardly bat an eye at the word of trouble stirring in Iwa, their new Tsuchikage, Kurotsuchi, still struggled to maintain the reigns on her people and military and practically begged Konoha for assistance. The grudge between Suna and Iwa still ran too deep for Gaara's shinobi to be of much help, and so Kakashi seized the opportunity for what it was.

It was a habit of hers to arrive early. The consultation with the elderly woman was scheduled for noon tomorrow and only now had day broken on the morning prior. Natural beauty taunted her from every direction, the world but a compass singing gentle songs from every letter upon its face. A waterfall flung mist above the canopies somewhere upriver, clouding out the eyes of birds and men and leaving them faceless in the undergrowth. Farther north, the grasses and waters gave out to the rocky terrain of Earth Country, and the east and west provided a horizon of verdurous foliage. Sakura wondered the condition of the villages that lay in these respective directions: of Grasses, Waterfalls, and Stones. She wondered at their structures and their economies and their peoples. She remarked, half-heartedly, if their villages held a single woman, just like her, surviving through the encouragements of others but still dying, slowly and surely, from the rampant disappointment concealed within themselves.

At 23, she could be doing more. Should be doing more. The hospital kept her for long periods of time without apology. Constantly the single monument stole away the time she'd intended to spend on other talents. Sakura had hoped to amount to some of the achievements adopted by her fallen brethren; she'd planned to do the things that Strong Sakura, Post-War Sakura was supposed to accomplish. Surpass Tokubetsu Jounin status and join ANBU, guide Naruto into dreams of Hokage, make Tsunade proud, shrink the degree of debt the hospital owed and the mortality rate both simultaneously and exponentially. Fall in love. Father children to a man that didn't haunt the fragile structure of her childhood. Visit Dad more, before he got sick, but ultimately still don't visit enough once the beans were spilled. Not be late to the funeral. Act surprised when her mother grew too weak to go on and then practiced old fire jutsus with carelessness, landing her in her own grave. Remark on the normalcy of life as a village hero, tailed eternally by the village idiot. The kunoichi failed at all of these self-assigned tasks to some varying degrees, but she recognized that regardless of their individual severities, the outcome remained the same: she was not the Sakura that was meant to be.

Dissatisfaction was second nature to her now. In the morning she ate her egg whites with a grimace, took her evening jogs with the beginning of a bad mood stirring in her abdomen. Hinata had taught her the word for this - Altschmerz. The same insecurities and problems and flaws that gnawed at her even in her genin days, following her into adulthood and knotting the muscles she spent years trying to detangle. The dainty-voiced Hyuuga had whispered to her the diagnosis while the two friends sipped habitually on cups of steaming oolong. Her petal pink hair had drooped in response to the explanation, as if the fibers of her body had tried so long to resist blowing their cover. And with a single word the strength gave out, the will to pretend that victory had no consequences. That broken hearts would mend in time if she just waited a little longer, a little longer. That late at night when she turned her back on progression and stared into the overcasting midnight, remembering when the grass she walked upon stained her ankles red, pretending she didn't think about a dark-eyed young man, alone, stalking through the wilderness. That all of it, the culmination of all the things that future was supposed to be but wasn't, didn't hurt her more every day.

The final clasp of her pack echoed off the bark of a nearby tree. The weight of her belongings along the muscles of her back felt comforting. She pondered a more nomadic life as she picked her way back into the wispy forest that clung to the riverside, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to spend the daytime washing her clothes with too much care and relishing in a pleasant brand of loneliness.

Maybe she didn't deserve this vacation. But even if she hadn't yet earned it, as the water slithered along rocks and jumped to splash against her bare calves, she realized how much she needed this.

* * *

It was evening when he saw her.

The day was uncrowded. He'd stuck to some traditional training, chopped down a dead tree or two a few yards behind the buildings of his small apartment complex, tidied some hedges on the south entrance and then strolled lazily into downtown, barely five miles east, favoring the dark silt that crumbled into a haphazard, narrow road over the blushing sunset. For the sake of something to do, he whispered his grocery list to himself over and over, until it was engrained - although it never really changed from visit to visit.

Tomatoes, rice, tuna, nori, dashi, fish paste.

 _Tomatoes, rice, tuna, nori, dashi, fish paste._

He grunted as he approached the edge of the marketplace, lights gradually flickering to life to wade off the oncoming night. The sandals somehow seemed more constricting on his feet when he remembered that he'd need more than his normal supply on this particular afternoon.

Flour, eggs, sugar, cream, berries.

Retrieving the items remained easy enough. Store owners recognized and respected Sasuke's preference for silent exchanges, polite nods, terse greetings. A loyal customer is a loyal customer, and they were willing to treat him the right way if it meant consistent patronage. Fewer women gawked at him than before, when he was younger and his face told less stories. Dark hair fell flatter and longer against the slopes of his angular face, eyes filled with ink but more open, in a way. After so many years of hiding, the possibility of being discovered seemed slim. It occurred to him that search parties on his behalf probably ceased long ago. Every part of the young shinobi's being felt so withered from such tireless escape, always moving at neck-break speed to avoid capture.

After defeating Itachi, all he thought he really needed was some time to think. Some time to himself. He was lonesome by nature - they knew this, all of the Leaf shinobi that hunted him for assorted reasons. Sasuke just wanted a little break, a little rest, a little complacency after murdering his own flesh and blood. But his behavior had been ruthless and misleading, he knew this now. Hindsight is always 20/20, and Sasuke spends as little time as he can manage from dwindling on thoughts of the past. It aged him, he knew, and the weariness that brushed the skin around his eyes was more telling now. He couldn't risk settling, couldn't risk in actually relishing in the thought of true freedom.

Nine months ago when he wondered for the first time since he'd first left Konoha if they had finally given up on bringing him home, he broke down in the kitchen, a sliced lemon in his hand. He cried for hours out of some mixture of relief and sorrow and anguish and pure, unadulterated joy. The townspeople looked through his eyes when he spoke, focused on other things and musings; young women smiled politely in his direction if they caught his eye upon them in the street but never anything more. Children continued to play and kick and laugh and scream even as the dark shadow of his silhouette glided by on the street. Sasuke had never felt so relieved to be no one.

Gathering the last of his new perishables, the amiable young man turned heel and paced calmly back the way he came.

And then, she was there.

Just across the market place against the backdrop of the hazy sun, which lingered so delicately along the brim of a sunhat she currently toyed with, scrunching her nose at the price tag and pressing the rough material between her slim fingers. Her hair brushed her nape under the conquest of a gentle wind and he could feel the winding of his Sharingan as he soaked in the splash of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the violet diamond hovering at the apex of her forehead, the gait with which she swayed against the horizon. And in that moment in which he stilled, in which he observed her just feet from his own more matured body, he knew she would see him. Her observation had always been keen and now he just waited, seconds turning into millennia until his whole world was captured between a set of strawberry-blonde eyelashes, drowning him in the only shade of green he could never truly forget and yet hardly remembered.

Sasuke doesn't say a word and neither does she. How could they? How could either of them do anything but stand interlocked in a situation so improbable, so completely impossible that for the first time in his life Sasuke considered slapping himself out of what could only most certainly be a dream? His character still remained cold and calculating at the core, but the years of loneliness, of travelling and running and hiding sat heavy atop his shoulders and at the sight of Sakura, of real, tangible Sakura, they leapt towards her familiarity. The air stilled in his lungs. She, too, simply watched, her arms frozen above her head as her fingers locked gently on the lithe fabric of the sunhat, neither party aware of the indifference with which the townspeople carried on around them.

Slowly she breaks eye contact, returning her attention to the elderly man stooped in front of her with eyes brimming with a fragile sheen of hope. The kunoichi smiles as if to reassure and her eyes crinkle in what he knows is politeness but what others would label as sincere joy, then gingerly returns the hat into the vendor's open palms. Maybe out of nerves or habit, she shuffles her sturdy nails through the bulk of her bangs, correcting them, and sidesteps the vendor before shifting her gaze to Sasuke once more.

To flee and never look back, to speak, to attack, to wait. The options pool into bottom of his throat and he wishes he could swallow without the fear of implying his nervousness. He hopes desperately that his face remains studious and distant under the attention of her eyes that are so alive of color and emotions that he forgot how to recognize years and years ago. And he still can't move. And he still can't speak. And he while he is mostly stunned he also feels the beginnings of fear pooling in the center of his stomach, afraid that the years of isolation and self-reconstruction he'd fought for over and over were inevitably destroyed by what appeared as a complete, asinine accident.

A wind chime sings in the breeze and the two shinobi continue to stare, their gazes occasionally flickering with the impeding body of a passerby. Sasuke hears the chatter of local merchants and the shrill laughter of children and the lazy guitar of a young woman sitting streetside, blue smoke curling from her mouth. He muses for a moment that he may have never been so aware of his surroundings in his entire life, and the potential threat to this lifestyle to which he has become so acclimated has all of the hairs on his arms standing and every muscle in his body on edge. He could pounce. He could kill her where she stands in the street with the kunai he always keeps strapped in the band of his pants. The possibilities raced, jutsus at his fingertips and illusions burning at the back of his eyes. Just a single movement from the kunoichi and he would leap, he would do attack to save himself.

Sakura glances away for just a moment at the shout of some group of males jesting over a round of sake, or perhaps at the repeated jostling of the wind chimes in the window of a storefront. Her gaze steadies there, to the left of Sasuke's tensing form, only for a handful of moments before she turns back to stare at him: fearlessly, wholeheartedly, purposefully.

And then, just as his calves tense up to pounce and the muscles in his forearms tense to grab the pale skin of her throat, Sakura turns and walks away.

* * *

Well, that's it. I know I change tenses and it isn't perfect and blah blah blah but it mostly just feels good to be back.

Please review and let me know if this story is something you would like to see continued! I appreciate the love and support more than you will ever know.


	2. Chapter 2

Back with the second chapter! I hope you all love it. Sorry for the wait, its been a crazy couple of weeks.

* * *

Vanilla-scented air wafted through the otherwise stifling space of Sasuke's apartment, lingering in the corners of the kitchen and hovering pointedly about the tip of his nose. On its own, without the added pressure of his unexpected run-in with a kunoichi from his distant past, today was a difficult day to bear, especially alone. Arms crossed and shoulders tensed, he stared dejectedly at the composed, two-tier cake perched atop the counter, still without icing. Sasuke found himself contemplating the vulnerability and potential stupidity of his actions, as he did every year since he began this tradition.

The cake was delicately browned and scents of springtime and nostalgic celebrations burst through its porous skin as the young nukenin watched, patience dancing along the tightropes of his nerves, the steam gradually drifting away, moisture occasionally gathering at the bridge of his nose as he waited. Usually he was less patient to finish the day's task, but he had no other excuses to keep him from the world outside, where those townspeople that had crept into the cracks of his shell and absorbed grains of knowledge about his tendencies and his conflicts expected his quiet visits under the yellow wash of evening. They knew the fragile sentiment of this day; they knew this habit as more of a lament than a celebration.

Yuri would wait calmly behind the counter of her small storefront and would smile with kindness as he self-consciously delivered her the fruit of his labor, and yet even with such gentle reception he would rub the blushing skin of his neck while rows of beautiful, intricate pastries gawked back at him. Yuri would make small talk, Sasuke would be perceptive without being revealing (as best as he could, anyway, with his defenses crumbling more every year), and then he would go to the creek at the top of the hill and sit; not to pray, not to weep, not to remember, but just to be.

He leaned to retrieve the metal tool required from a bowl of warm water, the name for which he'd never learned but the trick remained in his mind since the meals and desserts of his childhood. His fingers twitched along the hilt as they reflectively prepared for the stinging aura of his kusanagi, a habit that was an unpleasant reminder of many things. He wasn't fighting. Just icing a cake.

The warmth of the metal allowed for a smoother application, and as the icing coated the cake's surface a tinge of lemon twirled through the air and drifted into the cavern of his lungs. The instinct to perform all actions perfectly grew deep within the pit of his stomach, anxiety curdling as the roots spread through his body. Every year he'd wonder if Yui would reject his creation. He imagined her pert nose crinkling in distaste, the motherly smile adorning her face sinking into a grimace. He imagined his failure, forthcoming in its own right, inevitable. And yet the pale golden topping continued to glide almost comically before his eyes, as smooth as a swan sailing across a pond. His foolishness felt heavy in his lungs. Sasuke wondered absently if he could ever abandon his critical nature; surely he'd live longer if it were ever so.

His hands made quick work of the berries, slicing away their leafy heads and placing them flesh-down on the pristine surface stilled beneath his gaze, barren and yellow like a field of unswaying sunflowers, sloping gently at the sides and circling over and over in the fold of its perfect wholeness, and for a moment he wrestled to recall if these whimsical, useless thoughts stained the tissues of his mind in this way every year, with petulant frequency and depth. Refocusing, he tussled a nest of cut strawberries in his palm. They'd litter the outer two rings, then raspberries, then a single line of blackberries in the very center, and then, a small space equivalent to the circumference of his thumbprint. The shinobi shuffled through a nearby drawer for a few moments, fingers finally landing on the waxy, corded structure of a candle. Carefully he placed the little thing in the single hole he'd left in the center, then sported a meek frown as he lit the wick with a flame from his pointer finger.

For a minute he simply stared as the wax slid along the side of the candle, only blowing out the flame when the melted droplets grew too close to the surrounding fruits. He fumbled with the knife for a final time, fixing a plump strawberry over the miniscule hole left by the body of the candle. The fruit's juice stained the rough skin of his hand a shade of pink that made his throat grow dry, but he shook the feeling from his mind before tension crept in in its wake. Thinking of her now would be disrespectful.

But pictures continued to flicker in the swarm of his kekkei genkai, a numbing beat of the shuttering features of the kunoichi he'd long forgotten. Apprehension thickened the walls of his throat at the thought of startled emerald eyes - were they startled, truly, with the same coloring depth of his own shock? Her lips did not quiver under his gaze, nor did her cheek twitch, and as his mind grasped further for the precise shade of her iris as the luster of mild astonishment glossed the whole of them he felt the distinct sensation of loss still the muscles of his chest, for even now he could not quite recall the very makings of the stare that quelled him so.

A sudden eagerness to revisit the street melting against the sunset puddled somewhere at the apex of his spine, a cool dribbling of cruel veneration of that petal-haired woman, whose image slipped farther from his mind with every passing moment. Had she already fled the area? Another fleeting, impractical reflection wandering unwelcome into his head, one destined for the head of a man with more sense and less responsibilities.

The dark-haired young man wiped the proof of his work from his scarred hands and gathered the cake in his arms, the glass stand supporting it magnifying the heat that remained onto his palms. He freed a single hand to open and close the door, now behind him, his sandals already hugging the rough skin of his ankles, not bothering to lock the entrance to his apartment. She would not track him here, he remarked through his internal resistance.

Sasuke glanced at the rosy horizon of the year's first June morning, then dropped his gaze back to the glistening face of his creation. Carefully descending the stairs, a slow sigh fell from his lips.

"Happy birthday, Kaasan."

* * *

Sakura sat almost painfully still at the peak of the hill she'd occupied on the morning before, eyes unable to close, staring at nothing. Sleep was not becoming of her in general, (as a girl she'd suffered numerous night terrors), but she'd chosen to bow out of an attempt at rest. If she closed her eyes, she knew exactly what would look back at her - or rather, whom would look back at her.

The thought that the man she'd spent so many years trying to forget breathed only yards away from her bubbled ominously in the pit of her throat, drowning her lungs in a concoction of emotions that were unidentifiable but totally unpleasant. Sickly she pondered if Sasuke experienced the same sensations of terror and disgust.

Even in her haggard state she realized that a run-in with the shinobi that nearly destroyed her many years work could not deter her from the purpose of her stay; both her mission and her 'vacation' still required completion. After obtaining any information from the elderly woman awaiting her arrival, Sakura supposed she could transfer her free time to a place with less red-eyed, ice-hearted shinobi that glared at her in the street. Her gut twisted at the memory of his face and her hands brushed her arms, as if to scrub away the all the places his eyes had touched her skin.

The kunoichi wished his face had belonged to another. She longed for the rage that accompanied the image she'd painted of him over the years, to which she deflected her anger when nights grew so dark that all she could do to defend herself was sob until daybreak. She wanted to hate him. She wanted his fierceness to cord through the bulk of his muscles, for his despair to overwhelm his remorse, for the curve of his mouth to settle in a natural cruelness, a dismissing sneer that all the town would come to know and despise. The Sasuke she envisioned held hatred in his heart and blood on his hands. He was a monster. A monster that remained long dead to her.

But then he wasn't.

The stony disposition that haunted her for years was in fact a face that paralleled her own fears. His features remained mostly slack, but beneath the youth and the apathy that colored his pallet pulsed worry and desperation and the look of a caged animal, all both at the sight of her pink locks shifting about her bare shoulders. His emotional standing seemed to have slackened with his absence; his lips slightly agape in shock, a lump of disbelief lodged in his Adam's apple, his fingers fluttering nervously over the paper bags in his grasp. Her incredulity was palpable, she guessed. After all these years, the last emotion she dreamed Sasuke holding towards her person was legitimate fear.

Sakura was uncertain of how this dread at the sight of her person affected her, especially when it sprouted from the very man who had instilled so many of her own insecurities. A sense of pride often surged through her heart at the expression of surprise and panic that graced an opponent's features once they'd witnessed her strength or suffered firsthand the wrath of the taijutsu she'd mastered. The kunoichi had never outgrown her daintiness, a fact made clear by the company she kept only at vague intervals, those closer to her aware that her gentle appearance relayed none of her talents as a ninja. Strangers barely blinked in her direction and often only made to double-take at her garish pink hair. The array of unexpectation and shock on an enemy's face brought Sakura a warm satisfaction; however, such an emotion sent in her direction whilst off the battlefield brought repulsion to her lips and discomfort in her chest. Instilling fear was unbecoming of the kind-hearted young woman, even in the dull state that presently swallowed her.

Even as she remained perched on the grassy hilltop, a sunset past and a sunrise upon her, Sakura could not pinpoint the motivation that drove her away from Sasuke's sudden presence in front of her. But she saw the dismay within the depths of his eyes, even as they spun to the crimson hue she learned to dread, and it terrified her. So she ran.

At first her steps were evenly paced, balanced and calm and even and all that she wanted, needed in that moment. Portraying her as a woman unperturbed. But with each step she stole away from the shinobi at her back, the corners of the world seemed to sweep inwards, blurring the edges of her vision and flipping her psyche to totter on its side.

After rounding the first corner chakra surged instinctively into her calves, every muscle aching and begging to run farther, faster, away from what could only be a mistake. Thoughts flitting between the walls of her mind, Sasuke's face echoing with every pulse of her heart and every rush of air in her bloodstream. Wildly and hopelessly she sprinted towards the beginning of her day, her nin-pack and bedroll and scrolls rebounding against the coiled muscles of her back with each step. Foolishly Sakura reigned in her tears, desperately refraining from the retching sobs that beckoned her.

Itching to roam the hillside and amble her musings with the scrape of her feet, the kunoichi collected herself to embark on her brief course to the elderly woman with whom she held an appointment. A breeze churned about her legs at the anticipation of spotting Sasuke somewhere on a street, staring with the identical incredulity as the night prior.

The taste of progress, crumbling, exploded in her mouth and dripped into the bottom of her lungs, each pump of her foot pushing her farther away from the picture of Sasuke but closer to the cracking dam stirring internally. So many years cloaked in the sensation of hollow anguish, regret tinting every day a shade darker than she remembered, starving her mind of his face and his smell and him. The way he'd called her name at the nape of her neck, thanking her in that mocking tone, the glimpses of his stature as it matured in adolescence and omnipotence. All the torturous thoughts she'd buried in the space between her bones, coddled in the grip of her ribcage as if to shield her heart from her own sick sense of memoriam.

Sakura had crawled, knees bloody and bare, spirit broken, to the quarantine state that sanctioned her mind from all thoughts of the dark shinobi a mere yards from her. Pictures destroyed, memories tarnished and self-altered, hope abandoned. For longer than possible to recall her encouragement to grow stronger drew from the determination to erase Sasuke from her mind. The image matched the reputation: a nukenin who was deserving of the phrases spat in his direction, a man who'd never again know the song of a friend's heart or the comfort of a woman's arms. A savage. A criminal. A traitor.

And it wasn't fair, this young, petrified man she'd discovered in the street of a town that held no ill towards the kunoichi's oblivious existence. The near-decade of training, emotional and physical, all shattered in the wake of pure accidental occurrences.

Her reflections drove her to some sort of distraction, so she shifted to remove the smooth paper of her mission scroll, which sat dutifully in her palm. Responsibility as a tangible object always felt lighter than Sakura imagined it should be, what with the millions of consequences spread upon the ground, bombs buried in the silt and earth of choices, reactions. The ink scrawled upon the surface caressed only the shades of her still irises, unable to reach past her eyes into more thoughtful places.

Yuri. No other name followed or preceded, nor did the scroll disclose the usual implications of personality, habits, preceding reputations. Elderly, around sixty-five years of age, no documented shinobi training on record. Widow of twenty years, mother of a pair of fraternal twins, a girl and boy, both in their late thirties now. Both nameless, according to the shinobi who'd done the background check, a fact that seemed exceptionally strange to Sakura. The girl was a mute that worked humbly in the kitchen of her mother's bakery along the downtown strip. Also assumed to reside either in her mother's home or in the garden keep on the edge of her land. Palm-sized sketches, done in a sooty ink that reminded her warmly of Sai, donned the bottom left corner of the unrolled paper. Juxtaposed women regarded her below, harsh lines tinting their features in familial resemblance. Absently she wondered if they were close.

The shinobi assigned to prepare the summary of both parties struggled to grasp a clear standing on the subjects. All interactions and conversations held with those who knew both the woman and her disabled daughter proved fruitless and difficult; the locals seemed too perturbed to discuss either person, though it was unclear is such a silence came provoked by respect or wariness.

The storefront would remain closed until noon, at which time the bakery would assuredly be in full swing, workers passing by for a sweetness to numb the triteness of another day in the workplace. Distaste crept into the corners of her mouth. Puckering her lips in annoyance, Sakura wished for a time when she could not empathize with those who felt trapped by their professions. The shruiken pack crowding the bone of her hip grew heavier with such musings.

Hoping to avoid a scene with some oblivious patron, the kunoichi settled her ninpack between the slab of skin separating her shoulderblades, ready to embark on the dirt path that led back to town. Turi and her nameless child - Sakura wondered in the mute young woman truly had no name at all - would surely be preparing the day's produce, whisking flour, beating eggs, folding cream into chocolate. Interrupting, while not a personal pleasure, undoubtedly became a convenient talent over the years. Besides, she found that people were more honest when their hands remained focused on other tasks.

The scroll still draped on her left arm as she walked, Sakura read on. The male twin maintained adequate function but partook in delinquent activity. Neither children received training in the ninja arts, but even as a civilian child the young man collected an impressive resume of minor crimes. Twenty years ago, the young man impregnated a local farm girl, and together they tried, and often failed, to raise a compassionate son. His name was Koto.

The thieves meandering across the borders of Earth, Wind and Fire were lead by a young man, unidentified, with a wolverine face painted on a ceramic mask to serve as his identity. According to officials, this leader held substantial potential to be the current day job of the young Koto, who'd fled from home two years prior during his second round of agricultural training. The father had vanished when the young boy was ten, and his poor mother had little to say. The grandmother remained the only glimpse at a lead in the investigation, confirmed doubly by the unfortunate defects of the aunt.

Sakura met a mute young man once, a sixteen year old with peculiar green hair (she supposed she shouldn't judge considering she'd been victim to the same thoughts by others) and dark freckles dotting the planes of his cheekbones. He'd been a weapon specialist like TenTen, and his tranquil, involuntary silence made him appear rather intimidating. Lee had attempted to tell him an off-handed joke during a passing match that the other contenders observed, huddled together along the balcony of a viewing deck. The shinobi simply glanced back at Lee, nodded, and then returned his gaze to the duel.

As hard as she strained to picture his face again, Sakura could not recall ever seeing the same face a second time. Nor could she recall the village from which he hailed. Ghosting her fingers along the skin of her throat, she wondered if he survived the war. If so, she wondered if he, too, missed the joys of being a ninja. Given, of course, that he'd ever lost reverence for their profession in the first place.

Information gradually trickled into nothingness, the bottom of the scroll ending with Kakashi's haphazard signature. Lazily the kunoichi re-rolled the scroll and shoved the thing into the bulky pocket of her pack, swapping for a canteen and stooping to gulp languidly from the container, newly-full with the river water that bordered her sleep site. Purification jutsu left a mild bitterness within the water's molecules, but Sakura shrugged at its familiar bite. She'd had worse.

The cloud of dissatisfaction that hovered constantly about her head seemed to lift just an inch or so at the sight of the little town opening to welcome her.

"Little" was an unfair description; the village was sizable enough and perhaps comparable to certain parts of Konoha's marketplace, only absent of the sheer mass of land that characterized her home. Buildings of professional standing stooped low on block corners, winged by eateries and a town grocer and other various businesses serving different purposes.

Water funneled into a narrow channel that flower along the boardwalk, a long levy of patched grasses sloping the space between the sedimentary street and the creek. She wondered if she approached the water if she'd catch notes of lavender from her earlier bath on the hilltop, which she'd taken in restlessness. Such a frivolous thought brought a smirk to her dainty lips.

As expected, a "CLOSED" sign glinted against the morning light as she clamored onto the bakery's doorstep. Sakura rapped on the glass door once, then twice, louder, and by her fifth, most insistent knock, an elderly woman in a dusty frock emerged from a door within the store, face set in a line of what Sakura was sure to be unpleasantness.

The pink-haired kunoichi stepped back politely as to allow the woman to crack open the door. Impatience leaked into her every feature, including her voice.

"Miss, I don't suppose you're illiterate?" said the woman, pointing mockingly at the "CLOSED" sign. "I'm afraid we don't open for another two hours."

At least she retained some admirable attitude. Sakura respected that.

Flashing her identification badge and hitai-ate, which she wore on the loop of her black shorts, Sakura sang sweetly in response: Pardon me, Yuri-sama, in no way did I mean to inconvenience. My name is Haruno Sakura, I am a kunoichi of the Leaf. I was hoping to have a few words with you."

Yuri eyed her warily, then fumbled for a second to grasp a pair of glasses dangling at the apex of her covered breasts, face melting into a reserved astonishment after donning her specs. "Pink hair . . ." she mumbled.

Ignoring the comment, Sakura continued with her gentle disposition. "I wanted to stop by before your bakery opened to avoid stealing you away from your customers. Would you mind if I stepped inside to ask you a few questions?"

A little dumbfoundedly, Yuri shifted her weight off of the door frame and clumsily propped the door for Sakura to enter. She gave a slight bow upon entering, which Yuri returned hesitantly, then followed the elderly woman as she began to move back from where she'd come.

"You'll forgive me, I hope, for my earlier tone," Yuri said over a bony shoulder.

"It's quite alright, Yuri-sama. I'm used to such reactions," Sakura replied. "I am sure you are hard at work in the kitchen preparing for the day. Please do not allow my presence to be an imposition on your work."

Yuri turned to regard her fully, hand outstretched to balance her body against a gleaming display case. Only a single item stood inside, a rounded cake with rings of fresh berries on top. She admired its color, the icing a similar shade to a peeled, ripe banana, the alternating rings gleaming in the wash of sunshine pouring through the clear windows. A spot of perspiration gathered on the inside of the glass, a few degrees above the body of the cake.

"First one for the day?" the kunoichi asked, gesturing towards the cake as she moved to return her ID to her hip pocket. "It's very beautiful."

"Yes, just finished making it. I was in a rush to put it out before the others," responded Yuri, sounding peculiarly out of breath.

"Well, I may just have to buy a slice on the way out. The kitchen, Yuri-sama?" Sakura raised her chin towards a door a few feet from the older woman's back. With great reluctance the woman turned and resumed her walk back to her work. Sakura quickly sidestepped her and beat her to the door, opening it open chivalrously for Yuri as she hobbled through the doorway.

The air was immediately visible, clouds and particles dancing all over the room, sailing with every step on the wooden floor and bouncing off of the stained, peeling mint-green walls. A back door stood open to carry the dusty atmosphere outdoors into a back alley, and the accompanying sunlight threw waves of glittering sugar into the air. The room practically vibrated with the smell of sweets.

A woman hunched over a wad of dough, a halter dress tied about the back of her neck, back muscles flexing with the force of her kneading. An enormous bun of rich, crimson hair bobbed at the top of her head. She turned, not halting in her work, to observe her mother and the unexpected guest tailing her. The woman's eyes widened in something a little more than surprise, and the smoky green of her irises reminded Sakura absently of her mother.

Yuri turned to face Sakura briefly upon entering. "My daughter, Akami. She helps me in the shop; however she cannot speak, so I doubt she would be of any assistance in whatever brings you here." Sakura fixed the younger woman with a tight smile, uneased by the routine chakra scan she conducted on Akami. For now she'd speak with Yuri. The daughter, even in her unusualness, could wait.

"Pleased to meet you, Akami-san." The woman nodded in response. Glancing back towards Yuri, Sakura softened her grin. "Please, continue working. I don't believe I'll keep you for too long."

Yuri did as suggested, resuming work on a batch of square pastries laying unfinished on a large, wooden table. "What brings you to my shop, Haruno-san?"

"Well, I'm hoping you could be of some help," Sakura said with patient spirit. "Recently the neighboring shinobi villages have filed complaints against a travelling band of mercenaries. They've stolen some treasured artifacts from these villages and many people are desperate to have them returned." Yuri grunted in affirmation to acknowledge that she'd absorbed the kunoichi's words thus far, even if some of it had been unintentional retention.

"I've been sent on a mission to question some locals about potential suspects and members of this criminal group. They've yet to declare a name, but each member is masked in one way or another, usually in solid-color ceramic faces. However, the leader of the gang-" Sakura brushed the edge of a photo in the pocket of her shorts, removing it to pose delicately in front of the old woman's face, "-looks like this."

Yuri squinted even behind the thickness of her glasses, setting down a bowl of raspberry filling to lean closer to the outstretched object. Pictured was the profile of a wolverine-masked man man clad in grey and black guard pads, a black flak jacket, and sporting a crown of copper hair.

Face unmoving, Yuri leaned back and resumed piping filling into the pastries. "Never seen him."

Sakura flipped the picture around, the masked man now facing her. "Our shinobi say he resembles the coloring and build of this young man. Does he seem more familiar?"

This time when the woman looked she was arrested into stillness. From the corner of her eye Sakura saw Akami steal a look in their direction, and also froze at the sight of the young man on the image.

"That's . . ." Yuri began, but after a moment the air seemed to fizzle senselessly from her mouth, unable to complete the sentence.

"Your grandson, Koto," Sakura finished.

Suddenly a slam echoed from the back of the room, causing Yuri to jump and Sakura to snap her head in the direction of the source, Akami had abandoned a wooden roller, which clanked twice more against the ground before falling still, and fled from the kitchen through the open back door. Sakura tensed with suspicion.

Quelling the kunoichi with a hand raised in protest, Yuri hardened into a defensive stance, but her face grew gentle.

"Please, could we speak another time? Perhaps at my home, without Akami around. She and Koto were very close, and she has been quite sensitive since he left." Desperation gleamed in her wise eyes, amplified by her thick glasses.

Sakura consciously relaxed her position, hoping to reassure the grandmother even as her mind raced with instinctive actions revolving around the daughter's escape. Yuri spoke again when the kunoichi remained silent.

"Really, please, I insist. I live on the beaten path behind the town bank, a few miles out. Past the flower field on the left, but if you hit the forest you've gone too far. It's a shack about an acre in. I keep it as tidy as I can," her volume rose as Sakura gradually shifted her gaze away from the door. "I promise I'll answer any questions you have then." She smiled a little desperately.

"You wouldn't hide something from me, Yuri-sama?" Sakura said patiently. "That would be a mistake."

"On my honor, I wouldn't. Truly. It's just been hard on her, on all of us," she said as she gestured towards the doorway.

Sakura nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll be over tomorrow evening, once the shop closes."

Yuri clasped her hands in gratitude and bowed. "I'll be there, I will." After a moment, she added: "On my honor."

After a handful of logistics were further explained, Sakura showed herself out after Yuri's insistence that she could recover her daughter on her own.

The sun sat just barely higher in the sky and the street smelled of people, stirring, kicking up dirt as they walked, vendors beginning their chants and sales pitches. The narrow creek danced as green as a streak of lilypads under the sky's attention. The skin of Sakura's face prickled in the sudden wash of natural warmth, relishing in the comfort and tightness of June sunshine.

A bell tower chimed with the strike of the hour, filling the air with echoing chords. She'd missed the structure somehow in her observation of the town, and although it was the tallest building in the premises, its dark brick blurred almost comically into the treeline along the western horizon. An external staircase wound around its base, spiraling, cracked grey stone attached to the equally marred walls of the structure it clung to, mirrored by a foliage of winding vines with blooming peach flowers.

Her eyes followed the curve of the stairs, admiring the shadows and the angles and way it seemed to be unashamed of its age, this hulking body looming over an otherwise average village. Its cracks held character, its chipping torso filled square by square with complacent charm. Even the face of the meager bell that swung there, tarnished under many summer sun's stare, twirled proudly in it deterioration.

And even that single gargoyle perched alone on its inner frame, as if to watch the world develop beneath the structure it guarded. Wondering as its expression, attempting to recall some of the architectural history Sai had taught her, Sakura raised a hand to block the glaring sun, which currently obscured the details of the statue and left it as only a darkened silhouette. Mid-pondering of its origin, waiting for her eyes to adjust, the serenity that had settled about her shoulders turned to stone and dread, and suddenly it became very difficult for Sakura to breathe.

The gargoyle was not a gargoyle at all, but a man.

The gargoyle was Sasuke dropped into a predatory crouch, black hair sharpening the murderous intent spread across his face, staring very pointedly at Sakura.

* * *

Okay seriously, this thing WOULD NOT END. I was working on it for like five fours today and the end seemed like a distant planet

As implied by the cliffhanger, the next chapter will be pretty much entirely Sasuke and Sakura interacting, since I've deprived you of that for like two chapters now. I'm sure most people expected me to have Sasuke chase after Sakura but that is comically out of character. You can always count on me to lean on realistic choices that these two characters would make.

Please review! It only takes a minute to write something and make (or break) my whole day :) Next chapter should be out in a matter of days if all goes according to plan.


	3. Chapter 3

He wouldn't stop following her.

Sakura tore herself from the sight of the bell tower and fled to the nearest alley she could find. The emotions shadowing his features spoke volumes, and she didn't have to be told to run before instinctively jumping into action. This Sasuke was much different than the man she'd encountered yesterday, gawking in the street, and elicited a frantic timidity in every atom of her body.

His massive chakra trailed her every step like a thundercloud. The sheer weight of his unhinged potential suffocated her thoughts. She ran blindly, taking any and every turn as they came, praying another passage would be there with every snap of her head. Blood pulsed in her ears as she desperately attempted to find a way out of this obscure maze, and all the while she berated herself for believing that he'd let her go unharmed, even for a moment. Even by accident.

The years blinded her from the ruthlessness of his sheer existence. Had war been so close to the present, even when it seemed so far away? Foolishly she'd assumed that Sasuke had matured, detached from the carnivorous machine Orochimaru had slaved over for years. A man mastering his craft, that's all Sasuke was: a murderer maintaining his namesake. Maybe the satisfaction he required to return back to normalcy was her blood smearing his hands. And he could do it, she knew. Even as her legs pounded the flat dirt of the earth floor, the pressure of gravity fighting back flaring through her thighs, adrenaline threw her onwards in sheer terror.

Rounding a corner, she found herself barred by a dead end of rotting brick, the dirt ground littered with trash bags and abandoned food wrappers. She cursed such pitiful luck. Retracing her steps would be impossible as he'd surely follow her every move, closing in on her any second now. The wrath of his presence already felt like hot tar on her senses. Sakura glanced up in desperation. The walls of the store on her left were reflected by the same size building on her right; the brick climbed up another twenty feet above her head, at least, with the tops of each roof sloping downwards towards the ground, mere feet apart as if preparing to kiss.

She could scale the walls if she moved quickly enough, but truly escaping Sasuke seemed unlikely. His chakra signature grew more foreboding with every passing second. It would be close, but no other choice revealed itself.

Charging her legs with chakra and grinding her teeth to prepare for her jump, Sakura pounced a quarter way up the wall, landing in a crouch. Refusing to glance back she began to sprint upwards, avoiding bricks that appeared overly-sensitive and damaged, which led to a game of improvisational hopskotch. The world seemed almost entirely in slow-motion, the gap between the two roofs seemed miles away and panic trickled into her pattern of breathing. Sasuke's chakra signature was virtually palpable at this point, molding around every curve of her fleeing body and thundering in its rage. He was coming. This man was going to kill her.

A petulant voice whimpered for Naruto in the back of her head. For the first time in a long time, she did not believe she would be her own hero.

But she'd die trying.

She heard him before she felt him. Feet always light as a feather, the kunoichi remained oblivious when he joined her pursuit up the side of the building. But even past the deafening power of his presence, she barely caught the poison of his voice at the nape of her neck.

"Sakura."

Time itself couldn't have moved quickly enough to deflect Sasuke's oncoming attack. His rough hands gripped stonily around her bare throat, squeezing maliciously before hurling her entire body into the rubble below. The earth cracked minimally beneath her weight as the kunoichi deflected as much of the impact as possible, but the crunch of her left knee meeting the ground sent a cascade of lightning behind her eyes.

Green chakra hummed around the injury before Sakura finished flipping back onto her feet, fighting the urge to moan at the pain radiating throughout her lower body.

Sasuke remained unimpressed and visibly seething even after the intelligence of her physical reaction. Heat and searing desolation radiated from his every pore.

"Sakura," he said again, more pointedly and dripping with animosity.

He didn't expect her immediate charge, a flurry of kicks - repelled by the guard slapped across his forearm, fury increasing at the recognition of her strength. She wielded more power within her tiny limbs than he remembered or imagined, and the heat of his anger grew at the thought.

A shruiken aimed half-heartedly at her ribcage was easily batted away. Was he testing her? Sakura released a bout of senbon from a case on her hip, which Sasuke's shinguard absorbed harmlessly. He responded with a decisive blow to the nape of her neck, the majority of which she deflected with chakra. Calmly, she reached behind and caught his wrist, halfway to snapping the bone before receiving a knee to the gut - she'd foolishly left her torso exposed - and he retrieved his outstretched arm before retreating a few yards back.

Clutching her abdomen a splash of blood spluttered from her twisted mouth as she coughed violently. The air completely vacated her lungs upon contact and her self-annoyance doubled.

He permitted no time for recuperation, tossing a cluster of kunai at her main chakra points. Dodging haphazardly, she seethed as pain bubbled in her stomach. The nukenin activated his bloodline within a shadowed corner, face still and hardened with savagery.

"You shouldn't be here," he said simply, ominously. Casting her eyes to the side to avoid any oncoming illusions, enmity ballooned in the chakra that swelled to cloak every inch of her body.

A collection of clones leaped from above, surrounding Sasuke from all angles. He parred with each before retrieving his kusanagi, smoke puffing in a halo as he swiped the blade in a neat circle. A blur later and the sword was returned to his hip. He saw the oncoming punch, although he hadn't expected it, and caught her glowing fist with his already injured hand. The defense cost him its mobility; the resounding crunch signalled its full, clean break. Sakura smirked.

The victory was short-lived as he pinned her roughly, further cracking the earth. The ache of her newly-healed knee flared for a moment, warranting a grunt from the kunoichi. Now Sasuke smirked, a sadistic shadow pouring over his features. "Still so weak."

Venom coursed through her veins. Hooking an ankle around his thigh and twisting the momentum to reverse their positions, Sakura sank a heavy knee into the bone of Sasuke's hip, simultaneously wrenching his broken wrist into a particularly agonizing angle.

"Fuck. You," she spat with all the resentment she could muster. The shinobi headbutted her, dazing her momentarily, then threw her from his person. Sakura landed with both feet braced against the brick wall at her back, then rebounded to send another round of taijutsu at Sasuke. The light of day streamed narrowly across his features as they sparred, punching and kicking and drawing blood where they could. Sakura ground her teeth with every received blow. Glancing at the seals tattooed on his wrist she pondered why he bothered with hand-to-hand combat. They both knew no matter her adeptness these days, a chidori to the stomach would silence her for good. It was unlike Sasuke to hold back.

Past their grappling she could hear the townspeople stirring in the streets. Fishermen pulled shore-side and called out the day's catch. She wondered if Yuri was open yet, and if she'd sold any cake. A little annoyed she remembered that she'd forgotten to try a slice.

Sasuke was quick to regain her attention, suddenly halting their exchange of blows to bat away her swinging leg and launch to grasp her upper arms. Expecting to meet the dusty ground once more, she stumbled ungracefully when her weight was instead pushed parallel to the ground. Her skin met the bitter bite of old brick, the back of her head clanging against the wall. Sasuke's sharingan twirled sadistically in front of her. Sakura was admittedly thrown by the change of pace.

"Get off of me," she hissed, pushing her arms against his grasp, although resistance was fruitless. He resettled her arms above her head, flat against the wall.

Leaning closer he seethed in response. "Do not speak or move."

Grunting and wiggling again to free herself, this time the kunoichi was quelled with the chill of the kusanagi tucked beneath her chin. She'd completely missed his draw.

"I will not repeat myself," he whispered gravely.

Before Sakura could formulate a retort, a rustling tumbled down the alleyway. A small, golden ball bounced harmlessly against the pavement then bobbed clumsily along the openings in the earth. Sasuke sheathed the sword as they both tracked the ball's movement. It rolled across the wreckage with a bit of teetering, then plopped decisively against the opposing wall, mere feet away from where the two ninja stood at arms.

Sasuke instantly shifted further into the alley and into the shield of a gloomy corner, speed hardly impaired by Sakura's added weight as he lifted her along. He rearranged their position, tucking himself into the corner of the touching dead brick with Sakura hidden behind his back. Her arms remained gathered in a twist within his only functioning hand. Unable to peer around the shinobi's broad back and prohibited from adjusting her position to witness the issue (she'd tried to lean past his shoulder to see, which earned her a painful yank on her convoluted limbs), Sakura stole the opportunity to gather herself. Instantly she suppressed the discomfort she held at the closeness of their bodies.

At his impatient instruction to cease the externalization of her chakra, as its glow would draw attention, she complied reluctantly. Although she was uncertain what shook Sasuke so thoroughly.

For a fleeting moment she considered fleeing. He seemed distracted enough, body tensed and legs coiled to leap at any moment. The hold he maintained on her arms could be loosened or broken with enough brute force, and plenty of chakra stilled hummed in her body. Fear and curiosity kept her still.

More scuffing echoed through the tunnel that led into the alleyway, along with random shouts and incoherent warnings. A child's nervous laugh sang through the corridor. Eventually a group of tottering shadows soared over the little shadow that the opening of the alley provided and the noises slowed. Sasuke remained perfectly still as a group of children emerged from the thin light.

Confusion mulled their faces, one of the shorter boys in the group even cupping his hands around his eyes.

"I can't even see!" said the boy with the impromptu hand-goggles. Sakura had forgotten how difficult vision-training had been as a genin. These civilian children reminded her of the weeks she'd spent training at midnight with Naruto and Kakashi, wandering blindly through the forest.

A taller girl flanking the boys' right hushed him as she encroached further into the alley, wandering closer to the crevices and shards of rock that lay in the shadows. Sasuke watched, motionless.

"The ball is back here somewhere, it's a dead end," said the same girl in a quiet tone, her feet slowing as the group travelled deeper. Sakura could sense their anxious little bodies a few yards away. Seven children all gathered at the mouth of the entrance. They couldn't be older than ten or so, she guessed, and she worried for their parents.

"If you're so sure then you can go in and look, Tomi," teased another girl in the back of the flock. The taller girl halted at the front of the group, gazing senselessly into the black air. "What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?" the same girl taunted.

"Stop it, Mahani," whimpered a small, quivering voice. Sasuke glanced at the trembling young toddler clinging to the dress of the mouthier female he'd been regarding. Tears welled in his eyes. "I think somebody is in there."

Sasuke's muscles tightened as another child retorted. "Don't be such a baby. No one is back here. Just find the ball already," said an exasperated Mahani.

"Would all of you just shut up?" Tomi barked. "I can't even think."

Mahani scoffed and shoved the little boy from her clothes. Sasuke stared as she clamored bodily to the front, making a point to push the other children as she travelled forward. "You big babies, I'll get it. It's just a ball."

The young girl started off in the right direction, but she didn't expect the patches of open-earth that cluttered the area around the ball. Her small shoe caught the edge of a sharp rock and she fell to the jagged ground with a complimentary thud. Sakura nearly jumped at the girl's piercing shriek.

The children fell into absolute disarray, half of them tucking tail and retreating, screaming for help, while some other simply stood, blind and petrified, and joined the injured Mahani in her wailing.

Knowing Sakura's first instinct would be to heal the child, Sasuke swiftly turned to pin the kunoichi with a look. She stared unabashedly back, providing a slight nod in understanding. Sasuke quirked an eyebrow slightly in question, unsure he trusted her to understand his meaning. Sakura simply peered upward, gaze settling on the gap between the roofs that she'd attempted to escape through earlier. When she returned her eyes to Sasuke, he released one of her arms with a threatening, albeit meaningful look. Slightly aggravated by his utter lack of trust in her better judgement, Sakura began her swift ascent. Sasuke followed, the shrill shouts of the children falling gradually away. The two shinobi slipped soundlessly through the roofs as adults began to job worriedly towards the distraught children.

Sasuke did not relinquish his hold even as they emerged into the relative safety of daylight. The kunoichi gawked at his firm clamp around her wrist, tugging pointedly at their physical entrapment.

The shinobi regarded her lazily, searching for a route to a more discreet location. Sakura struggled again, beginning a verbal protest that was too loud for his liking.

Sasuke pulled the kunoichi closer with a flick of his wrist, boring into her furious eyes without hesitation.

"We are not finished. Stop pulling away, or I will gladly return the favor," he threatened lowly, lifting his broken wrist into her line of sight.

Sakura rolled her eyes and stepped back, uncomfortable with his habit of close proximity.

"Asshole," she uttered dimly. THe nukenin gladly ignored her.

Midday shined brazenly above their heads, illuminating every exposed crevice of the city. The two ninja stood patiently - although one significantly less so - on the rooftop of a humble storefront. The people below were less perceptive to the vastness surrounding them, the majority completely oblivious to the pair on the roof. Sakura imagined mockingly that she was a clueless civilian woman, dancing around in her apron and chiding kids and partaking in frivolous activities. The burn of Sasuke's grip, however, anchored her feet firmly into the ground, even as she stretched to submerge her heads into the clouds.

The nukenin beside her roamed the horizon without bothering to disclose his train of thought. How absurdly strange it was that he'd stopped their fight at the sound of children. She'd never pegged him as the type to censor, or to generally pay any mind to the susceptibilities of young kids. Although it made sense if he was truly concerned about blowing his cover. After all, he'd made a life here. But did he really plan to resume their fight once he found somewhere suitable? For a person with majorly underdeveloped social skills, Sakura figured it wasn't wildly far-fetched. Side-eyeing him as he peered stonily into the distance, she didn't believe the choice fit, regardless. Sasuke was too intelligent to do something as petulant as start a battle for no reason. Although she didn't know what she'd done to warrant combat in the first place, come to think of it.

The raven-haired man tugged impatiently at her wrist, a little more forcefully than she deemed necessary. She was complying, after all.

"You will come with me," he demanded. His tone was as blank as could be the rage from minutes ago fully retreated into whatever recesses held it when unneeded. Sakura was not keen to follow alongside the brooding man, but he'd already begun hopping along the roofs of the town, back towards the hill where she had started her day. The kunoichi remained lazy in her pace as she joined him, trying to stall by decreasing the velocity of travel, but he simply responded with a rough pull forward. "Keep up or I'll kill you."

Without thinking, she scoffed.

"Are you kidding me? Why can't you just leave me alone?" she asked, trying to remove the whining tone of her voice. She'd settle for passive aggressiveness.

Sasuke grunted. "I could ask you the same."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "I ignored you when I saw you. You tracked me down."

"Don't lie. You followed me this morning and tried to gather information," Sasuke said smoothly.

"Followed you? You hate sweets," she exclaimed. Sasuke did not respond.

Sakura gawked at the back of his head, yanking her wrist in his hand so he'd turn his head. Noticing her disbelief, he held her eyes.

The kunoichi struggled not to splutter. "I wasn't following you. You really underestimate the power of a decade of absence," she responded.

Sasuke was unimpressed. Placidly returning his mind to the horizon, he called back over his shoulder: "I am not going back to Konoha, Sakura."

The succeeding scoff caught him off guard. "I'm not here to bring you home," she corrected. "Although why I am here is none of your business."

"You will tell me," he stated bluntly, but without force. Sakura remained silent, jumping from roof to roof, hoping they arrived wherever Sakura planned to go sooner rather than later.

Both shinobi fell into a steak of stillness, travelling without speaking. Sakura's thoughts remained mostly barren, mindlessly scanning the unfamiliar scenery and flitting through a mental to-do list to pass the time. Sasuke contemplated his reckless companion, spending the majority of his energy forming some meager speech to convince Sakura to evade his immediate area. The kunoichi was fond of talking. That much, at least, remained unchanged. Sakura did not comprehend nonverbal communication much to his chagrin, and for that fact alone (although alone in his complaints it certainly wasn't) he would be glad to be rid of her.

The nukenin settled on a clearing beyond the mouth of the creek, where the water grew thicker and louder, only miles from the land of Waterfalls. Upon entering the center of the meadow Sasuke promptly released Sakura's wrist, then sprinted a few more feet before turning to face the kunoichi.

She rubbed her wrist irritably, scowling at the purple and black blotches forming there. Mild deja vu scrambled his senses as he watched her fumble over herself. She hadn't grown since the last time they met, during the war. He'd seen her so briefly, preferring to stay out of the line of fire to avoid run-ins with familiar shinobi. Anyone with a bingo book or common sense would've declared his presence to the ninja world if they'd discovered him unintentionally, and a tide of unwanted would follow. He did what little he could when he could, fighting for whoever his daily mood favored. Mostly he remained rogue, the unfitting hero in the shadows. He did not crave redemption like so many assumed. Just some peace and quiet.

But seeing Leaf shinobi was unavoidable; they were everywhere. Helping others remained forever in their blood. He'd avoided the audacious blond idiot at every cost, but often forgot to track Sakura's presence. Perhaps a boyish part of him never assumed she would make it to the front lines.

He'd seen her once squandering the leftovers of a battle, appearing much like she did now. She picked through the injured, stopping to heal where she could and for as long as she could stand. Strawberry hair still so flashy and full of light, a smile radiating from her core even amongst the shambles of men and things. The kunoichi looked largely the same as he remembered, with the curves he'd never grown accustomed to and the wit with which he was poorly acquainted. He remarked dimly on how she'd held together over the years - the decade - that parted them. Restlessly he wondered if she thought the same of him, though he doubted it.

Nose scrunched in discomfort, she continued to grope at her wrist. FOr the first time, he willingly acknowledged the disappointment brewing within him. Undoubtedly childish and irrational and disgusting, the feeling remained even with his berating. Sakura was so incredibly unmoved by his presence, so naturally fearsome and independent. While fighting him had not been easy, she held her own without bragging and without brashness, meaning she knew that level strength intimately. He should've trained more on his own. Should've kept the cement walls around his emotions solid. Why had he even spoken to her? He said too much and now he seemed foolish, less intimidating.

In reality he was perfectly adept, he knew, but he wanted to be more. Her improved taijutsu was a challenge and a surprise, but even with it his ninjutsu would demolish her. A pump to the ego numbed the throb of disappointment a little, but his self-aggrandizing stayed poignant in the center of his mind. Too weak. Too frail. Powerless.

Eventually they caught each other's eyes and locked there. Each stood with arms stilled at their sides. Absently Sasuke noted the ache of his wrist begin anew. He wondered how hard it could be to heal oneself without training, not even considering to request the assistance of the coveted mednin in front of him. Too weak.

Sakura cocked her hip in impatience. She wondered at the time and then at the incredulity of time. She'd spend approximately twenty-six years of her life sleeping, four years of her life eating. She wondered how many years of her life she'd spent just watching Sasuke.

Wrought with agitation, she snapped and finally spoke, albeit awkwardly.

"So. How long have you been here?"

Sasuke did not react. Bad move, she noted. This was not the time to give the impression that she cared. After all, he did not seem convinced that her current mission had nothing to do with him.

"Sorry, probably a personal question," she added after a minute or so of silence. She wiggled her toes against the grime collected on her sandals, sifting through potential questions to break the tense air.

"Are you waiting for me to hit you again? Am I supposed to fight you some more?" she questioned. Because, I mean, if so, just give me a sign." This was only half a joke, knowing she'd be ready to pounce if it came to blows.

No bait. Sasuke just regarded her cagily, face stony and body straight as a line. The sun's rays drew a bout of sweat from her forehead and she carelessly reached to wipe it away with the back of her hand. She didn't expect the crumbled blood that was carried back down on the skin of her appendage.

Suddenly the kunoichi became painfully aware of her haggard, beaten appearance. The serene field couldn't contrast more with her mottled bruises and numerous wounds and dirtied skin. Heart beating in a rhythm of girlish worry, she scowled internally.

This was ridiculous. After repeating the statement in her head, she decided to tell Sasuke as much. Still, he did not react.

Tossing her hands halfway up the length of her body, Sakura huffed in exasperation.

"What do you want from me?" she nearly yelled, leaning towards the motionless man that stood on the other end of the field.

He stared, perhaps deciding on an answer, but never moving, never speaking. Sakura phased in and out of her own frustration, falling into her own thoughts and then refocusing on the shinobi's face at arbitrary intervals. She contemplated running for the hundredth time, but didn't want to give the appearance of retreat. And he'd chase her, certainly, and she really didn't want to fight again. She'd lost the desire to beat Sasuke senseless many years before.

And then, suddenly, a dull sound rang in her ears. She glanced up, noticing the new expression of Sasuke's mouth and realizing she'd missed what he said.

"What?" she asked, a little embarrassed.

Something unidentifiable flitted over his features before he repeated himself.

"Leave."

And this time, it was Sasuke's turn to walk away.

* * *

Hey everyone! Told you it would be out in a few days.

So I hope you don't all kill me for the ending, but I felt like it just had to happen. Next chapter will be Sasuke and Sakura heavy as well, although I can't promise when it will be out because I move into college next week!

Please review and let me know your thoughts! Also, just wondering because I am an anxious grape, but are the chapters well-paced, or are they moving too fast? Or too slow, but I feel like that never happens. Let me know! Love you all :-)


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